Snow Smile
by Doitsu
Summary: The meetings between a young, human Ivan and Yao, a nation, in the last winter days of the 1800's.Something struck Yao about this boy who knelt so dejectedly on the ground. Eyes the colour of an amethyst stone rose in wonder. "Are you an angel?" Multichap


A/N: After a longer period of inactivity, I'm back! This was written a few months ago, but since now I have the time to actually work on its next chapters, I decided that it was time to post it.

Background: This was inspired by a fairytale called 'Das Maedchen mit den Schwefelhoelzern' by Hans Christian Andersen. Don't read it if you don't want to be spoiled. This takes place in a wintry Russia, back when people still bought matches on the street to light their hearths at home. Our main character is none other but Ivan. This will NOT be romantic, because that would simply be wrong (Ivan is very young), but it will be a loving relationship.

Disclaimer: I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia or any related characters. They belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Enjoy!

Snow Smile

-Chapter 1-

The icy wind blew through the crowded street, tossing about the folds of his too-large shirt that was in desperate need of fixing. Cold, merciless fingers of air found the small holes where the fabric had worn thin and had finally unravelled, leaving patches of pale skin as numb targets.

The young boy stood near the entrance to a patisserie shop, half sheltered by a stone wall protruding slightly from the row of buildings. The wall was cold, but the wind blowing through the streets was colder.

His hands were wrapped around a small bundle of matches, held together by a ribbon, and sheltered by his hands from the occasional snowflake that blew his way. He couldn't afford to have the matches become damp, because then no one would want to buy them, and then, he wouldn't even be able to bring home enough money to buy a loaf of bread.

And then his father would draw back his hand and strike him, because they had counted on him and he had let his family go hungry.

They shouldn't be hungry on Christmas.

The snow was biting into his feet, and he wished he could stand nearer to the entrance to the warm shop, where the snow had melted from the fire inside and only cold stone remained.

Another wave of passersby, and he shuffled forward, out of his little niche, and kept his eyes cast down as parents with excited children passed, eyes alight and seeing all that the shops offered in their windows, but not seeing him. Never seeing him.

But he needed to sell more matches. He had sold only eight today, which was not enough.

_It was never enough_.

"Matches...", his young voice whispered.

He drew the attention of no one, and valiantly called out more loudly. "Matches... Matches against the cold..."

A young girl a little younger than him looked over curiously—expensive dress, thick coat and a scarf wrapped around her head—tugged at her father's hand and asked something.

Maybe they would...?

The girl's father followed his daughter's gaze, letting it settle on the young boy in tattered clothing selling matches, and then shook his head at the young girl beside him, taking her by the hand and moving on, disappearing into and becoming part of the crowd.

It started to snow.

Seconds became minutes, which melted into hours. The street was becoming more and more empty, as the last stragglers returned home for Christmas Eve. Already, many windows were lit, the warm glow of candles illuminating the colourful decorations hanging in them. Reindeer made of paper; stars. Angels. Angels of happiness and home.

_Please... buy. Buy. Even if it is only one. _

Darkness fell.

He stepped into the darkened street, illuminated only by the soft light behind windows closed against the cold outside world.

The snow wasn't cold against his feet. He couldn't feel his feet. The shoes he had worn this morning had been large, too large, his mother's. And as he had dived out of the way of a coach rattling its way down a cobbled street, he had lost them in the brown mud of the street.

He didn't know what his mother would say.

The wind shifted in the deserted street, and suddenly, an indescribable feeling sang its way through him, a mysterious, tingling sensation, like music dancing through the veins of his numb body.

The boy raised his weary eyes in wonder.

There was a man walking down the street from the other direction. His coat looked too light for the season, but he wasn't shivering.

The young boy frowned, trying to see the man's face, but it was still shrouded in darkness, but then, the man walked past an illuminated window, and the sharply-angled face was thrown into relief.

It was as though the air itself had taken on an entirely different quality, and the glow from the windows had somehow turned into warmth ghosting along his bare arms.

He kept walking, as if in trance, toward that man, whose presence made summer flow from the wintry air.

The stone was invisible under the snow.

He tripped on it, over it, and fell, his numb and tired legs not supporting his weight. The icy snow in his face, on his hands, was a harsh awakening from the pleasant illusion.

The freezing wetness seeped through the thin layer of his clothes, eliciting a convulsive shudder, and the urge to get up again as quickly as possible.

His hands met the ground, and—

The matches!

He sat up rapidly, cradling the matches to his chest, but they were already coated in snow, wet and useless. There was coldness biting at his legs, and pain in his knees, where a small trickle of impossibly hot blood was seeping through the fabric of his trousers where he had landed, hitting his knees.

The matches.

Frustrated tears burned in the back of his eyes.

And suddenly, the warmth of the sun enveloped him, and music danced through him, as a light hand settled on his shoulder.

"Are you all right, aru?"

He whipped up his head, tongue-tied and speechless, absorbing this man's presence like the warmth from their hearth at home. He looked different from anyone he knew. His face was pale, with slanted, wide eyes that looked almost black in the darkness. His hair was long, held in a ponytail, straight and neat, unlike his own, tousled hair that had never been brushed before.

The spot where the hand touched him was becoming pleasantly warm, and the wind was starting to let up. A shiver tore through him, but it was the kind of shiver that stems from warmth after a long time spent in the cold.

The man's eyes were still on his face, and he curiously but warily returned the benevolent gaze.

He finally found his voice.

"Are you an angel?"

A laugh, like tinkling bells and spring blossoms. The man shook his head, and warm eyes smiled at him.

"No, I'm not an angel."

"But..." He tried to form the words to describe what he was feeling. How can you make me warm? Why did the wind stop? Why does it smell like summer?

"What is your name, young boy?"

It was as if the answer had been on his lips the entire time, waiting to be spoken.

"Ivan."

The relief, coming out of nowhere and cradling him in its arms, allowed a tear to slip from his eyes, and then another. And another.

"I'm Ivan..."

"Shh... It's all right. You can call me Yao." The hand gave another stroke over his shoulder. Ageless sorrow grew in the accented voice, as though its own pain had been awoken by his. "Why are you crying, Ivan?"

"I... I haven't sold enough matches—", he managed, but tears choked off the rest.

In explanation, he held out the bundle of soggy matches like a bouquet of dead flowers.

Yao bent down, kneeling in front of Ivan and with infinite gentleness took the matches from his cold fingers.

"I don't know what my parents will say..."

The man's hand moved into his coat, removing a small purse.

"I'll buy all of them."

"But they are all wet! They are useless. I can't sell them anymore."

The clink of small coins and then, Yao was holding out his hand with more money than Ivan had ever seen at one time.

"Will that be enough?"

"Y-yes, yes, of course it's enough! But wait..."

Yao just smiled, a smile of indulgence and benevolence as he straightened up, tucking the bundle of matches into an inside pocket of his coat. "Run along now. You have to be home soon. The night has dark and evil creatures and angels can't look after you forever."

Ivan looked down at his hands, bunching them into his shirt and struggling for words. He finally raised his eyes, new strength shimmering in their depths.

"Thank—"

The street was empty.

"Thank you", he whispered into the awakening wind.

* * *

I'd love to hear your thoughts. See you soon!


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